


Two Halves of a Whole

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, can be read as slash or not, feeings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: There is a constant war inside of Spock: the human and the Vulcan sides of him always quarreling. When it all gets to be too much one night, he goes to the one person who might be able to understand him. He goes to James. T. Kirk.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 11
Kudos: 140





	Two Halves of a Whole

They were two halves of a whole.

The Terran and the alien. The mind and the soul. The impulsive and the controlled.

Now, was Spock referring to him and Kirk, two men in complete contrast? Or did he refer to the two halves of his own body: the Vulcan and the human? 

He wasn't even sure himself. But these were the things he contemplated as he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. The ship was quiet, humming peacefully as most of the crew slept. Nights like these were generally calm, but they brought their own unique concerns.

There were the logical concerns: was a skeleton crew enough to watch over the ship as the commanders slept? If they suddenly entered a red alert scenario, would everyone get back to their stations fast enough? Were there enough monitors and security guards watching over the possible glitches and errors that could send the ship careening into unknown space if not handled properly?

And then there were the notably less logical concerns; the ones he tamped down, but not before they had a chance to enter his subconscious. Did his crew enjoy his company, or were they simply putting up with him like the people of Vulcan always did? Was Jim going to get himself hurt again tomorrow, and if so, how badly? Did he have what it took to be a Starfleet First Officer or should he have pursued an academic life on Vulcan?

Spock breathed deeply. A lifetime of meditation had trained him to lower his blood pressure; clear the mind and all emotions will melt away. 

But there was a strange contradiction he faced every night. Throughout the day, while he was working and interacting with humans, he always kept a steady and calm composure. Vulcan culture was seeped into his very nature and he couldn't bring himself to act emotionally in front of people, even now. Even when everyone else did. But nighttime had always been different. At night, his mother would read him stories of courage and love. He would dream of adventure and daring hopes; pirates and seafarers. 

On the Enterprise, now an adult and a First Officer, night was his only escape from the cold hands of logic. He felt things all day, of course; the human half of him was just as strong as the Vulcan, biologically. But he only let himself feel those emotions at night, hidden in the darkness behind a closed door. 

Night was his refuge into a world of humanity, but it was also the one time he was as physically distant as possible from humans.

A fascinating combination. He'd pondered it for a long time, now. Ever since he first allowed himself to cry after a long day, emotions bursting out of him as soon as his head hit the pillow. All the others cried together; they laughed together; they emoted...together. 

Just like on Vulcan, but the complete opposite situation. There, he alone cried, while the other boys replied with cold facts and dry eyes. There, he smiled as the other children watched on with empty gazes.

He shook his head to clear it. If he went too far down memory lane, he might never find his way back.

Spock sat up in bed, holding the edge of the bed tight enough to whiten his knuckles. The past few nights had been like this: staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep, thinking of the past. If he weren't so stubborn maybe he would talk to McCoy about it. But he'd probably only get a snide remark; some joke about humans infecting him with emotions.

He shook his head again. He wasn't being fair to McCoy. They were never fair to one another, but that was no excuse. He would have to do better about that in future.

If they ever made it to the future, that was. This night felt like it had lasted forever. Most nights did, actually. He needed a little less sleep than humans, but this was getting ridiculous. Sleep was a basic, necessary life function. If he couldn't even do that, how could he be a science officer?

He rubbed his hands over his face. 

Great. He'd cycled back to feelings of inadequacy. Now he could run the whole course again, ending up with even more negative emotions clouding his judgment.

Spock got to his feet. Took another breath. He knew exactly what he needed; knew exactly what was wrong, even if he didn't want to admit it. 

He was a social being, through and through. On Vulcan, this meant sharing logical advice, mind melding with those closest to you, engaging in traditions that stretched back centuries. But his Earth half cried out even louder. He needed to touch and be touched; to make physical contact, no matter how uncomfortable.

Spock made up his mind, then. His heart pounded against his side for a moment as it realized what he was about to do, but he quieted it with another short meditative session. 

He pulled on his boots, which probably looked ridiculous as they constricted his lounge pants to his legs. For a moment he considered putting on his uniform shirt. But at this time of night it would make no difference. He already looked like a sleepwalker. Might as well complete the look by walking around in his black undershirt.

In truth, he hadn't made his mind up where to go by the time he reached the hallway. For a moment he just stood in front of his closed door, looking left and then looking right; thinking.

He could go to the sickbay. One of the nurses could give him a sleeping pill, or even a sedative if he could persuade them. He could wake McCoy and get a whole physical performed, though it would annoy the doctor to no end.

But he didn't need medical care; honestly. So his feet started carrying him to the one place, the one person, he knew would help him.

"Captain," he said softly through the door. 

He bowed his head, staring at the floor. Suddenly he felt very sleepy. It crossed his mind that he could go back to his room. Forget this happened; push it aside; meditate and hope it was restful enough to carry him through another day. But he knew that if he did so, the problem would only compound. He would not be able to perform his duties. Eventually, if he wasn't careful, the whole crew would find out.

"Captain," he tried again.

He finally heard noise from the other side of the wall, shifting sounds of one getting up and walking across the floor. The door slid open, and the first thing he saw was his captain's bare feet.

Spock's head launched up to meet Kirk's eyes, which were alert as ever despite their sleepy softness.

"Spock?" Kirk yawned. The tension in his shoulders grew as he became more awake. "Is there a problem? We aren't on alert."

Spock set his hands behind his back, if only so he could squeeze his fingers together. He hadn't considered how the captain would respond to this late night visit. Suddenly he felt foolish; a child running to their parent after a nightmare.

"The ship and her crew are fine, captain," Spock stated. In this late hour, he almost despised the cool way with which he delivered these words. He wanted to be out with everything. But something held him back; some strange natural reaction that halted all emotion when another person was present.

Kirk's eyes danced across his own. The tension in his body had eased, at least. And his eyes had lost their alertness, too. Kirk looked as much a tired child awoken in the night as Spock did.

"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Spock?"

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but shut it just as suddenly. His cheeks had attained a strange feeling of warmth. Perhaps he'd picked up an illness and this was all just part of a feverish episode. 

"Spock?" Kirk insisted. He looked worried now, tilting his head to the side and looking at his first officer carefully. Studying him. No, watching him.

"I apologize, captain. I thought that I required your assistance, but I was wrong."

Liar. Lies, lies, lies. Just like back on Vulcan. He had been the only child capable of lying. It wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but it eased that temporary discomfort. 

How did humans practice such discipline, to tell the truth even when it felt so good to lie sometimes?

Spock realized he was still standing at his captain's door and turned to go. But as soon as he took a step forward, he heard his name again and spun back around.

"Yes, captain?"

"Come here."

Kirk was welcoming, but that didn't lessen the awkwardness; the shame. Vulcans didn't do this. They simply didn't. Vulcans dealt with their problems logically, with well thought-out plans executed to the letter. They did not wander to their commanding officer's quarters in the middle of the night without second thought.

Kirk led him into his room and let the door slide closed. Spock thought the intimacy would make this whole thing worse, but somehow it didn't. The walls and closed door hid them from view. And he and Kirk were both in their pajamas, Kirk barefoot, so there was nothing formal or official about this.

Spock let his shoulders loosen, arms falling to his sides. 

"Spock, what's going on?" Kirk asked directly. 

Spock was quiet at first, clamping his mouth shut tight. His eyebrows furrowed at the question, almost forming an answer in themselves. When finally he spoke, it was with Vulcan taunts playing in his ears and a rapid heartbeat.

"I seem have trouble sleeping this week, captain. I apologize that I did not alert you to it sooner, and if my duties have not been performed adequately."

Kirk's lips quirked downward, eyes softening further.

"Do you know what's causing it?" asked Kirk.

Spock paused again. This time, Kirk broke the silence.

"It's okay, Spock. You can tell me. This is strictly confidential."

Spock was grateful for his captain's understanding. How he knew what to say was a mystery. But it was certainly working.

"My human half has certain needs that I have neglected. Growing up on Vulcan instills a certain culture that is not all compatible with human bodies."

Kirk's eyebrows lowered.

"This isn't...it's not like Pon Farr again...?"

"No, captain." Spock shifted awkwardly. 

Yep, this was still uncomfortable. 

Kirk seemed to get some relief from that, at least. His expression shifted back into one of mild curiosity and worry, rather than fear. He set his hands behind his back, gripping his wrist in his hand.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Spock looked at the floor again. 

"I have been neglecting the social aspect that is wired into human anatomy and brain function. There is an inherent need for close contact with others which I thought I was immune to," Spock said quickly, trying to get it all out as fast and painlessly as possible. "Evidently, I was wrong."

Kirk smiled at that, in that way that made his eyes sparkle. Spock wasn't melding with him currently, but he knew that Kirk understood exactly what he meant. He knew that he had come to the right person.

"Spock..." Kirk breathed. He took a deep breath, and then gestured to his table. "Let's talk."

Spock sat stiffly at first, as Kirk poured himself a drink. He didn't know where to start. It was easy to converse when there was a chess board between them, or when readings needed deciphering and a planet needed saving. But when it was just them, he felt bare. Like his very essence was being watched and judged.

"I do not know what to say, captain."

"Well first of all, say 'Jim' instead of 'captain'. We're not on duty right now, Spock. Different rules."

He nodded, but had to clear his throat before the word would come out.

"Jim." Spock shifted in his seat and looked down at his folded hands on the tabletop. "On Vulcan, there was nobody except my mother to talk to. About illogical things."

"Illogical things, Spock?" 

Spock glanced at Jim, envying his body's response to alcohol. 

"Emotions, primarily. I was the only child of Vulcan that cried after the age of three. The others...did not understand."

Jim set his drink down as quietly as he could. His eyes were dark, jaw set. Like he had a few choice words for those Vulcan children.

"Were you bullied?" Jim asked. His voice held a little bit of venom.

"Yes, in your sense. They did not refer to it as such," said Spock.

"Bullies never do."

"No. I suppose not." 

After that, it was easier. Jim hung on every word, making all of the proper comments and responses. Or, at least, the exact ones that Spock needed to hear. And Spock talked.

He talked about his childhood; the confusing, contradictory lessons from his human mother and Vulcan father. He spoke of the loneliness that had become a sort of companion, joining him both in the Academy and on the Enterprise. 

As he concluded his basic history, his voice began betraying his emotions. It started with a slight wobble; then another. He swallowed it down as soon as he heard it, those Vulcan taunts ringing in his ears; a little less noisy, but still present.

"I thought," he continued, releasing a shaky sigh. "I thought that by now I would have figured out how to balance my human and Vulcan halves. And I thought that I wouldn't still feel so..."

"Lonely?" Jim finished.

Spock bit his bottom lip. Warm tears threatened to spill out of his eyes if he blinked, so he didn't. Just stared blankly at the empty bottle in the middle of the table. 

Jim sighed too.

"Spock, it's alright to feel lonely. Even if it's not logical. Even if it's not desirable."

"I feel ashamed," Spock stated, letting himself blink. Sure enough, one tear did start tracking down his face. "To have gotten this far and still feel like a lost child on Vulcan."

Jim started a response, something about how they were all lost children out in space; how nobody chose this life because they had their lives together; that they were all misfits looking for a home. But the words would never be enough, so he stayed silent.

Slowly, Jim stood. He trailed his eyes around the room, adjusting his shirt casually. As soon as Spock started to wonder what he was doing, he gestured for him to stand, too. 

"Come here, Spock."

Spock wiped his face in his sleeve. A curious mixture of embarrassment and cathartic sadness blended in his chest and stomach. He didn't know whether to label it a positive or a negative feeling.

"Jim-"

"Come here, Spock," he repeated, holding both arms out slightly.

Spock stepped toward Jim, unsure what was about to happen. And then gently, as if being covered by a blanket, Jim's arms wrapped around him. Strong hands took hold of his shoulders, Jim's head resting against the side of his own.

A warmth spread through him, from his chest out. This one he knew was a positive feeling, even if he could not precisely label it.

Awkwardly at first, Spock returned the action. His hands found purchase around Jim's broad shoulders. It was an embrace unheard of on Vulcan, where a mere handshake was cause for scandal. But right now, Spock didn't need to be Vulcan. He could be human. 

Something about the hug broke down all of his remaining barriers. Spock's tears fell more rapidly, melting into Jim's shirt. He squeezed his captain tighter to himself, grabbing onto his shirt like a lifeline. Perhaps it was childish, but right now he didn't care. Not even the Vulcan voices in his head dared to disturb this moment.

His shoulder shook as he continued his release of emotions. It had been so long; too long since he had allowed himself to show this in front of another person. His mother, so long ago, had taught him to do this. But his father and practically every other Vulcan had taught him the opposite.

Jim's hand rose up to cradle Spock's neck, fingers scratching lightly through his hair. It felt good. If that was a crime on Vulcan, then so be it, but it felt good. 

"You're alright, Spock," Jim said quietly. 

"Jim," Spock said brokenly. His voice was not his own, yet it was. It was so much his own. A voice silenced long ago.

"I'm here, Spock."

Spock quieted, eventually. The sobs became sniffles became an occasional tear. 

At the end of it, he was the first to pull away. Jim kept a supportive hand around his back and walked him back to the table, where Spock collapsed into his seat. 

He was exhausted. His eyes were heavy; probably red and swollen. His head felt weird too; like a slowly forming headache. But inside, he felt better. So much better. His chest was light; stomach filled with what humans usually called 'butterflies'. That special tingling sensation when you matter to someone, and they are spending time just trying to make you happy.

Jim gave him an encouraging smile behind his own exhausted eyes. 

"Are you feeling better, Mr. Spock?"

Spock sighed, letting his lips turn up into a small smile he would never have allowed himself on the bridge. 

"Yes, I believe I am."

Jim's smile then was honest and true, if a little tired. They didn't say another word as Spock stood and went to the door. But just as he turned to leave, Jim reached out to his arm.

"Spock," he said. "My door's always open. Perhaps this...'close contact', as you called it, can be a mutual thing."

Spock's eyes lit up, as much as they ever did when he was his usual controlled self.

"I would like that, captain," he said softly.

Jim smirked, opening the door.

"Now...go get some sleep. That's an order."

"Yes, captain."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, don't hesitate to comment. I love hearing your feedback. Live Long and Prosper, friends.


End file.
